


The Gilded Cage

by itstonedme



Series: Haremverse [2]
Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-23
Updated: 2008-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 23:36:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itstonedme/pseuds/itstonedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU.  An undetermined sultanate during the Middle Ages. Elijah is 18 and in servitude. Orlando is 24 and a sultan’s son.  The sequel to The Grains of Paradise. Originally posted in 2008 on LJ <a href="http://itstonedme.livejournal.com/9158.html">here</a> with reader comments.</p>
<p>Disclaimer: A work of fiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gilded Cage

It is mid-morning when Ian, most-revered vizier to Orlando’s father, the sultan, enters the prince’s palace suite along a stone path leading from the gardens. 

He has come to visit Orlando, not on any official business but because the prince holds a special place in his heart. Orlando was a favorite of his close friend, the sultan’s brother, and as a boy had spent frequent hours in the company of both men while his father mastered the affairs of his newly-inherited kingdom. But the uncle is now long dead, and Ian is now the sultan’s vizier, and Orlando is becoming a man of letters and learning, not unlike his two mentors. Thus it is with welcomed fondness on both sides that Ian comes to visit.

“Dear friend,” Orlando smiles and strides to meet Ian along the portico outside the ground floors of his royal suite. They embrace and kiss, and Ian holds Orlando’s face within the circle of his arms, eyes alive with the delight of seeing him. 

“Precious boy,” he murmurs, for Orlando will forever be nine years of age, bringing him frogs and insects and sitting at his feet in studious fascination. “Your travels went well?”

Orlando’s smile transforms into something quite wonderful, and he takes Ian’s arm and leads him through the archway. “Very well,” he replies. “Come and see what I have gained.” 

They approach a large table upon which rest three books of various size and age, their leather covers carved and painted with intricate patterns and images. Orlando’s fingers lightly trail across the surface of one. “This is a book of sayings with many beautiful illuminations.” He then touches each book in turn. “This one is very old and contains extraordinary paintings of plants and herbs. It is Greek. And this,” – his hand brushes the cover and when he looks at Ian, his eyes flash with passion – “these are dialogues written by Jerome while he lived in Bethlehem. It is very special.” He carefully opens the manuscript, lifting each vellum page reverently.

Ian moves in closer to examine it. 

After long moments silently studying several of the brilliantly colored gold and silver illuminations within the book, Ian straightens up and gazes afar to ease his eyes. He looks past the atria to the gardens where cedars and poplars and fragrant fruit trees tower amid the flower beds and stone ponds. “Have you become Roman in your ways, Orlando?” he asks after a fashion. His smile is playful, his eyes sparkle.

Orlando looks up from the pages, puzzled.

“If my vision does not betray me, it appears there is living statuary in your gardens.” Ian nods towards the rose bushes.

Orlando follows his look. “Ah,” he smiles softly. 

Elijah stands away from them in the shadows of a towering cedar, head bowed, eyes closed. His arms extend from his sides at shoulder height, palms cupped and turned upwards. A light breeze plays with the sleeves of his linen shirt and the legs of his trousers, but otherwise, he is perfectly still. 

“Watch,” Orlando murmurs.

Ian half expects that Elijah might ascend to the heavens, so pious is his bearing. His sandaled feet remain fixed to the stonework, however, and when the moments stretch out, Ian tilts his head towards Orlando and raises an eyebrow.

Orlando’s smile grows and he nods again towards the garden.

Ian looks to find that a sparrow has lit on the fingers of one of Elijah’s hands. Soon another lands beside it, both dipping to peck at seeds held for them. It is not long before a half dozen small birds have gathered at his hands, others flitting about the leather string tying his hair, others lighting on his shoulders. Elijah slowly lifts his chin and turns to look at them, and Ian can now see, in profile, a joyous smile. 

Orlando turns to Ian. “It does my spirit good to see trust.”

“Who is he?” Ian asks, still watching.

“My musician. Elijah. This happens each morning and late in the afternoon sun.”

Ian’s laughter is full of pleasure. “Why haven’t you then given him a songbird?”

Orlando turns towards a stone pillar in middle of the room. “Oh, I have,” he says, indicating a magnificent gilded cage standing next to it. “I gave him a nightingale when he first came to live in the palace, but he immediately set it free, after many tears that I might become angry. He would free every songbird within the palace if it were within his power.” Orlando walks to the cage and lifts a soft pink cluster of star-shaped velvet flowers, sap glistening on their stamens. “So I brought him a hoya instead, and the only reason he will tolerate it within the cage is because its vines and flowers can escape it. As for birds, he has all that the skies will bestow.” He turns to Ian, smiling.

“You are fond of him,” Ian says, noting where the plant yet lives. 

“As you too will be, once you meet him. He will sing for us this evening when we dine with my brothers.”

*

It has been nearly four months since Orlando last gathered with his brothers. Like he, many have been away, engaged in trade or study, diplomacy or other governmental affairs. Of the eight brothers who have grown to be men, six attend the meal he has prepared on this evening, joined by several cousins and Ian. The women are not present; the women rarely are. Camaraderie and good-natured teasing are abundant, as is usually the way when they meet. There is much wine before and during the meal, with the musicians attending, Elijah included. Several of them sing, either together or individually, and as usual, conversation ceases during those times when Elijah performs alone.

The dancing girls enter when dessert is served, a variety of fruits and sweetmeats and coffee. The undulations of the women serve to embolden the men, many of whom will visit the harem once the sun has set, and when they have finished performing, coins are passed in silk kerchiefs to those among the dancers and musicians who have particularly pleased.

“I don’t believe I will ever truly forgive you for taking the singer from the harem.” Haroun is Orlando’s older brother by two, and his eyes brim with mirth.

A serving girl hands Orlando a linen cloth and collects the fruit peelings laying before him. “Then I must be a poor judge of a man’s measure,” Orlando says before dipping his fingers back into the scented washing bowl and flicking them quickly at Haroun’s face, teeth flashing in humor, “for you appeared extremely forgiving when I presented you with a pair of nesting falcons as recompense.”

Gaiety greets this response. Ian unties a pouch of dried herbs and fruit from his belt.

Re-drying his hands, Orlando waves for the smoking pipes to be brought in. “All of you, laugh. Enjoy your merriment. You have Elijah’s music whenever you seek it, while I…I am poorer by a pair of falcons, one of my stallion’s foals, three camel saddles…” His list goes on as laughter fills the room. “So please, drink my wine, consume my food, enjoy my musicians and admire my dancers. Take your fill of my generosity.”

Another of Orlando’s brothers smoothes his tunic and reclines more comfortably. “Yes, you have been very unselfish with your gifts but in truth, Orlando, while I may enjoy my saddles -- and they are very beautiful, brother – I cannot fuck better in their presence.” 

A servant places several narghiles on the carpets before the princes, and Ian passes him his pouch so that its contents may be loaded above the charcoal bowls and into the water below. 

“Do you hear that, Elijah?” Dawud calls out, for the musicians have finished rolling their mats and are making to leave. “My erection suffers in your absence, and my women must work harder so that I might be.” He throws his head back, laughing loudly as the others join him.

Elijah ducks his head, and then glances quickly at the princes, cheeks flooding with color. Orlando smiles at him and slowly, almost imperceptibly, nods. Elijah slips behind the _daf_ player and with the other musicians, leaves the room.

“Ah, it is just as well,” Dawud sighs. “If our women were to have seen his beautiful eyes unbound, they would have set upon him like dogs. He would have been reduced to bones, and all our thoughts of separating him from his scrotum would have been for nothing.” 

“And the world would have been less one more nightingale,” Orlando adds.

Ian sucks back on the pipe and slowly exhales, squinting at Orlando as cherry-scented smoke drifts up to the veils, their eyes meeting. “Indeed,” he smiles.

*

The ghost of the day lingers on the horizon as Orlando stands on the balcony of his bed chamber, a light breeze stirring the air. He is unsettled tonight; a thousand thoughts prowl the edges of his mind, all of them shapeless, nameless, and no amount of wine has dulled them. His brothers have drifted into waiting arms; the candles have been snuffed.

Behind him comes a rustle of fabric.

“Do not wait on me, Fardin,” Orlando tells his servant. “I am restless tonight, and sleep will come late. Go to your wife.”

Fardin bows. “Thank you, master. But I have come to tell you that the zither player is here. He says you had asked that he come.”

Orlando looks out over the shadowed garden, then closes his eyes and nods. 

Fardin takes his leave, and still Orlando stands on the balcony. Since the harem, there has been no passage of intimacy between him and Elijah, save for the growing affection he feels whenever in Elijah’s presence, which is often. His vow to see Elijah removed from the harem had been acted upon swiftly, and the melancholy hanging about the youth had burned away like the mists of dawn. Orlando has become his advocate and protector within the palace, not an unusual event among the princes, who collect and care for a variety of detached souls who pass through their lives. Elijah seems to have found his place and a degree of peace.

But nothing has transpired between them that would explain why he is now here.

Orlando turns to look into the darkened recesses of his bed chamber. There is a darker shadow among the lesser ones, near the wall, waiting. He silently moves inside.

Elijah slowly places his zither on the stone floor, his eyes in the flickering candle light never leaving Orlando, even as the prince moves within an arm’s reach. 

“It is late,” Orlando says quietly.

“Yes,” Elijah whispers.

“And yet, you would see me.”

“Yes.”

Orlando steps closer until the fabric of their clothes brush. He lifts his hand to caress a cheek, and Elijah’s eyes close, his breath catching.

“You still tremble,” Orlando murmurs, his mouth close to Elijah’s. “Are you yet afraid?” 

“No.”

“Then why is it you tremble?” His breath is sweet and hot upon Elijah’s face.

“I...want,” Elijah cries softly, mouth yearning upwards.

“Yes,” Orlando breathes, and his lips slide over Elijah’s, parting them. A shy tongue responds against his, unskilled, retreating, and Orlando pulls back.

“Tell me what it is that you want,” he whispers, staring, and Elijah moans, his face one of anguish and unformed words. 

“Come,” Orlando says, taking his hand. “Come and lie upon my pillows before you fall.” He leads Elijah across the room, through the embroidered draperies surrounding the bedding rugs and cushions along a recessed wall. Candle pots, left by Fardin, cast long shadows across the rumpled cottons and silks of the bed linens.

Orlando turns to Elijah, long fingers circling both of his wrists. 

“Tell me what I must hear.” 

Elijah drops to his knees and clutches Orlando, face pressed into his robe; his hands grasp the backs of Orlando’s thighs, bunching the fabric tightly.

The suddenness of Elijah’s descent and the frankness of his passion stuns Orlando. His eyes close and he groans. Reaching down, he slips the string holding Elijah’s hair and fists the fine locks.

“Tell me!” he hisses. His cock has risen half-hard beneath his robe at the aching closeness of Elijah’s face. 

“I want to know you,” Elijah moans, and the smell of Orlando’s arousal fills his senses, the heat between his own thighs pooling heavily.

Orlando unfolds to his knees before Elijah, cradling his skull as he descends upon his mouth, sliding into it, exploring it. Elijah clutches at his robe, small noises rising in his throat, and this time his tongue is more questing, more forceful. Slowly, Orlando pulls away and smiles, thumbs stroking his cheeks. “You will know me, Elijah. We will know each other.”

Elijah’s eyes shimmer in the light, and a shiver runs through him. “What do I do?” he whispers.

Orlando eases him back upon the linens and runs his hands along his shoulders and chest. “Lie still. Let me unwrap and discover what you have brought me.” 

He draws Elijah’s arms so that they sprawl above his head, and his hands creep to the hem of Elijah’s tunic and ruck it up, sliding it up over his head. Orlando palms his chest, over the dipping plane of his stomach to the ties of his trousers. He pulls them free. 

“When you lie alone at night, tell me what you imagine,” he says, loosening the waist band and kneeling back to slide the silk fabric over Elijah’s hips and thighs to his ankles where he pulls them off. His eyes wander to the hardening cock rising from its bed of wiry curls. He slips his robe off his shoulders.

Elijah’s gaze consumes the muscled golden smoothness of Orlando’s body, the dark trail of hair leading to the thickness of his sex hanging between his legs. The pang in his gut makes him writhe. “I feel your hands,” he moans. 

“Where?” Orlando slides his large hands up Elijah’s thighs, thumbs smoothing over the soft inner skin. 

“Touching me...everywhere.” Elijah squirms under the glide of Orlando’s hands and the heat of his eyes. He closes his own.

Orlando crouches above him and strokes his lashes. He dips, licking across Elijah’s lips. “Do not close your eyes. Look upon what I would do to you.”

Elijah gasps, and Orlando licks once more along the parted lips, sucking each in turn gently. 

“Do I touch you here?” he murmurs, hands skating around Elijah’s erection, back across his stomach and chest, arriving at each nipple. His finger tips brush gently across each, and he leans down and kisses Elijah’s breastbone.

“Yes.”

“And here?” Orlando moves down and kisses his navel, his beard just shy of the head of Elijah’s cock.

“Yessss.”

Orlando sits up and leans on his hand, hovering. Mottled splotches have bloomed on Elijah’s chest, a flush upon his cheeks. He trails his other hand down and closes around Elijah’s cock, thumbing the glistening head.

“Oh!” Elijah cries, arching.

The pull on his cock is tight and slow, and Elijah thinks that he cannot stop what is coming. Orlando sees this, and grips him by the root, pressing his thumb hard at the underside. 

Elijah fists the linens and wails as the tide of pleasure slams shut in his pelvis.

Orlando scrambles to kneel over him, Elijah’s cock in hand and a knee pressed tightly against his balls. He skims one hand up Elijah’s side, the flat of his palm ghosting circles over a nipple. “Let me tell you where my mind wanders when I lie alone at night,” he breathes. He leans and kisses Elijah’s collarbone.

“You come to me, full of desire, as hard and ripe as you are now. You fall upon me, your passion fierce, and you fuck my mouth with your tongue and cock.” 

Elijah writhes at the boldness of such words, at images he never knew existed between two men. 

Orlando licks a pebbled nipple before biting down on it gently, and Elijah moans and pushes into it, his hand curling around Orlando’s skull, threading and gripping the long strands.

A tongue licks over each rib, along the fluttering stomach, lower. 

“And you do to me things I have known women to do. You kiss me everywhere, and you take me in your mouth, like this.” Orlando’s lips settle wetly over the head of Elijah’s cock. 

Elijah keens, and a hand grips Orlando’s shoulder, squeezing so hard that he fears he will bruise, but he cannot help it. His eyes flash wide and he pants in little grunts.

Orlando’s tongue swirls around the head, lips pressing firmly just below, then back up. The cut of Elijah’s cock is a wonder, but one he has seen before. He stills and sucks, and Elijah shouts, squirming against the linens, pinned by the heat of Orlando’s mouth, arms and legs moving restlessly, hips pushing upwards. 

He thinks he is dying. He thinks his heart will cease beating if he is not allowed to come. His cock is like an iron lance, leaping within the velvet furnace of Orlando’s mouth, and his balls pull upwards in a tightening ache. 

“Please!” he sobs. “I beg you!” 

Orlando’s mouth releases him and he crawls back up, lips lingering over Elijah’s, eyes dark and glistening. 

“You bring me this gift,” he whispers, “and you would spill it within my hand.” He lifts his thumb, sliding his fingers lightly along the constricting shaft, and holds it loosely as it begins to pump against his palm. 

Elijah has been so completely overtaken that it is now as if his entire being is nothing but pulsing, exquisite waves. Orlando is fading away, the weight of him drifting into the ether.

Eventually, he settles into a heavy, loose-limbed sprawl, his breathing nothing more than shallow puffs against Orlando’s cheek.

Orlando stretches beside Elijah and reaches across to take his hand. He places it in the semen pooling on Elijah’s stomach, guiding it in slow circles. Elijah whimpers, for every part of him is sensitive, and the skin crawls beneath his palm. His eyes flutter open, dilated and heavy.

Drawing Elijah’s hand to his own chest, Orlando smears it across his nipples, his heart, his sternum. “You have now put your mark upon me,” he sighs, then brings the hand to his lips, kissing the fingertips. 

The echo of an earlier day is not lost on Elijah.

They stare at each other. “I would have that too,” Elijah whispers.

Orlando kisses his forehead. “Be still one moment.” 

He crawls towards one corner of the draperied chamber, Elijah’s slippery hand still clasped in his, both of their arms stretching so that they remain connected, and he draws from behind the veiling a stoppered bottle of scented oil that Fardin eases onto his tired muscles. He slips back beside Elijah. “Turn,” he says and rolls him away from him onto his side.

Pouring a small amount of oil into his palm and stroking himself, he leans into his ear. “I would touch you now,” he whispers. “Do not be afraid.”

He gathers Elijah’s thigh and slides it forward. His hand creeps down to the tender skin behind Elijah’s balls, pressing and swirling, and Elijah jumps a little at the sensation. Long fingers skate upwards along Elijah’s crease, then back down, cupping and smearing his balls, spreading the oil everywhere. 

A finger stops at the puckered hole and Elijah jerks. “Let it be, Elijah,” Orlando murmurs, and gathers him against his chest with his other arm. “I would enter you here.” 

Elijah nods and whines high in his throat.

A thick finger pushes into him, and Elijah arches away from it, then struggles to settle. 

Orlando kisses his shoulder. “Do not fight this. Let me feel…” 

Elijah is panicking and has taken to panting again, Orlando’s finger twisting into him unnaturally. But the intrusion suddenly melts into a rush of heat and sensation, and he moans.

“There,” Orlando smiles against his shoulder and kisses along his neck. “Give me your mouth.”

Eliijah turns, his cheek rubbing against the softness of Orlando’s beard, and their mouths open to each other. 

Orlando withdraws his hand, then reenters with two fingers, his lips swallowing the cry that crawls up Elijah’s throat. He curls his fingers, searching, and the cry turns to a groan.

He pulls out and takes himself in hand, slipping the head of his cock along Elijah’s oily crease, slowly back and forth, until he feels Elijah begin to slide with him. Then he lines up and gripping Elijah’s hip, presses forward, pulling Elijah back onto his cock until the head penetrates the tight opening.

“Oh!” Elijah cries out, gasping and grimacing at the sharp discomfort. He feels himself being pierced with fire.

“Shhh,” Orlando soothes. “This is how it is between men, my heart. This is how they know each other.” He pushes in slowly, pulling Elijah back onto his cock until he is fully seated. 

Little sobbing noises are gusting from Elijah’s lips, and tears start in his eyes. 

“Shhh,” Orlando whispers again. “It will pass.” He kisses behind Elijah’s ear, below it, and he feels the pulse of Elijah’s blood beating against his lips. 

This is not how Elijah imagined it would be. There is no respite from the cramping, burning fullness knifing into his bowels, and if he could crawl away and escape it, he would. “Forgive me, my prince!” he cries out, for he feels he has failed.

Orlando tightens his embrace. “Hear me, Elijah. When we lie together, there will be no need for forgiveness.” He smoothes a hand down Elijah’s tummy, past his flaccid cock, and gently cups his balls, rolling them loosely in his hand. “And when you utter my name, know me as Orlando.” He slides his hand to Elijah’s cock and cradles it, his long fingers wrapping lightly, squeezing tenderly. “Let me hear it from your lips.”

Elijah gasps out. If they do not move, it is not so hurtful. 

“Say it.”

“Orlando,” Elijah sighs and he feels Orlando’s cock jump inside him, and in truth, that is not so hurtful either.

“Oh,” Orlando breathes, his hand stilling on Elijah’s cock as he buries his face in his hair. “Say it once more.”

Elijah arches his neck back against the face pressing there. “Orlando.” 

Orlando pulls slowly on Elijah’s shaft and begins to rock his hips, not thrusting, only gentle pushes against his buttocks. He can feel the tension slipping from Elijah’s back and shoulders, can hear the quieting of his breaths. 

“I know that being with a man for the first time can be hurtful, no matter how tender the caress.” Orlando pulls slowly again along Elijah’s cock, running his palm over the head in small circles, and Elijah finds the touch strangely more pleasurable now that he is filled. Almost in disbelief, he realizes he is hardening again. 

“Know this, Elijah -- you are more than I imagined. Your smell, your skin, your willingness…” He curls more fully around Elijah’s back. “Where I touch you inside is all heat, as soft as oiled pelt and so close… so close.” He pulls back only a little and slides forward, and Elijah hisses. “Feel how we are one.”

“Yesss,” Elijah hisses again. Orlando continues to stroke him and the slip of the oil reminds Elijah of his mouth. “Again,” he sighs.

Orlando pulls back once more, a little further and once more slides forward. 

“Ohh.”

“Is that not so bad?”

Elijah rubs his head against Orlando’s face. “Again,” he breathes.

“Say it,” Orlando asks.

“Again, Orlando, again.”

This time, Orlando pulls back a little more, canting forward, and slowly slides back in, his hand pulling and cupping and palming.

“Ohhh,” Elijah cries out more forcefully, and there is little doubt that it is pleasing.

Each slow thrust leads to another and another until Orlando releases him and grips his hip. “Lie on your stomach.”

Elijah stretches flat, Orlando still in him. “Come onto your knees,” Orlando breathes, pressing Elijah’s shoulders so that they remain on the bedding with only his ass angled upwards. Orlando straddles him, one foot planted beside his hip, and begins to thrust again, long and slow. Reaching beneath, he takes Elijah in hand, feeling him swell and harden. 

“Oh, I would die,” Elijah breathes but Orlando can tell he is doing anything but. 

“Speak to me of what you feel,” Orlando gasps, for the sight of Elijah’s smooth body willingly raised to receive him is making his lust unravel. 

“I feel your length..”

“Yesss.”

“…hard and unyielding…”

Orlando groans.

“ And…it should not feel so wonderful,” Elijah moans, rubbing his chest against the cool cotton.

“Speak more,” Orlando pants.

“I would have you take me over and over...”

Orlando grunts and shudders.

“…only you...” 

Orlando slips to both knees, draping himself over Elijah’s back, his free hand scooping the hair from Elijah’s cheek, and he sucks in the heat rising from him. “I do not know who possesses whom,” he moans, and his strokes and thrusts start to stutter.

Elijah has taken to making little mewling noises. “I would come again!” he whimpers, and does, jerking into Orlando’s hand.

Orlando groans deeply, his hips convulsing, and he empties more completely than he has ever known.

They remain still, the pulses within each of their bodies fading fully before Orlando pulls out and lies beside Elijah, his hand stroking his back. Elijah turns his head to him, a small smile playing on his lips.

“You take my breath,” Orlando whispers.

“You take…me,” Elijah laughs breathlessly.

“Yes,” Orlando chuckles. “Well spoken and true. Wonderfully true. And I am exhausted.”

“But pleasantly so.”

Orlando runs his finger along Elijah’s forehead, pushing back the damp strands. “Most pleasantly.”

Elijah smile suddenly vanishes. “Would you wish I leave now?” for he remembers how it plays out in the harem when a prince is satisfied.

“Come,” Orlando says, scooping him to his chest and petting his hair. “I would not release you now if you pleaded and made your beautiful eyes rain upon me.” Elijah’s stickiness rubs against him. “Oh, but we are foul from our bed play!” he laughs.

“But pleasantly so,” Elijah repeats.

Orlando hums in agreement. “We will rest a while and then we will go down to the baths, and soak ourselves and drink wine. And if I am fortunate and feed you sufficient wine, perhaps you might sing me an indecent and lusty song.”

Elijah raises his head in wonder. “We would go to the baths so late while all others sleep?”

Orlando quirks an eyebrow, amused. “In this palace, I am a prince, Elijah. I would bathe with you at will.”

“I would like that,” Elijah sighs, tucking his head under Orlando’s chin.

“As would I,” Orlando murmurs, and their eyes drift closed for a time.


End file.
